The Little Things
by madderreds
Summary: "Alphonse Elric had long ago learned the importance of the little things. He'd first learned it watching his mother and father, and then from his mother after Hohenheim had left for parts unknown. While Ed was always making a mess of things, or practicing his alchemy to impress Winry and their mom, Al watched his mother." Elricest fluff, implied mature content, any verse


Alphonse Elric had long ago learned the importance of the little things.

He'd first learned it watching his mother and father, and then from his mother after Hohenheim had left for parts unknown. While Ed was always making a mess of things, or practicing his alchemy to impress Winry and their mom, Al watched his mother. How she'd put their bath towels in the dryer so that they'd be warm for Ed and Al after their bath, or how she'd make cookies _just because_ she knew that her boys loved them after a long day of playing in the sun.

Al likes to think that he learned how to love and be loved in return from his mother.

His short time with the Hughes family reinforced this lesson, years later. He would watch enviously as Col. Hughes would roll around on the floor with Elicia, while Gracia giggled like a girl from the kitchen. Ed would grumble and roll his eyes, muttering about _annoying stupid men who never shut up_, but Al was entranced. It was from the Hughes family that he learned _how_ to be a family.

It was Ed, however, that taught him passion.

It was with Ed that he learned how to love someone with all of his heart and soul. His soul was all that he'd had for so long, after all.

It was also with Ed that Al had first, real, passionate fight—throwing things from across the room, slamming doors, screaming "I hate you!" in angry tears. After that, Al learned the passion of reunions: mashed lips and desperate groping, the frenzy of lovemaking in the aftermath of a fight. And, of course, it was from Ed that Al learned how to be a passionate lover, the thrill of another body to touch and the unique embrace that only Ed could arouse.

Ed taught him the value of the big things.

Still, Al remembered the little things.

In the years after their quest for the philosopher's stone had ended, Al learned the joy of keeping a house with the person he loved. This, he learned on his own. He found himself remembering his mother as he washed dishes, a small, bitter smile forming on his lips when he caught her reflection in the soapy water. The Hughes family stopped by often—Elicia had turned into a fiery little minx, just as her father feared, and he and Ed were happy to fill the role of beloved older brothers beating off her suitors with a stick. It was sitting in his living room, surrounded by his patchwork-quilt family, that Al reveled in the life that he and Ed had created for themselves.

That being said, Ed could appreciate the little things a little more.

Al loved Edward, of course. More than he could ever express in words, or even in actions, he supposed. But sometimes his brother could be the most pig-headed, obtuse, rude, cynical, asinine _asshole_ that walked the face of the planet. He found himself gritting his teeth as Ed padded through the house, freshly-warm-from-the-dryer towel in hand, with out so much as a "thank you" for the thought. Still, he continued on, remembering his mother in his every action.

His mother had never demanded a "thank you," after all.

That didn't mean he didn't hope for one, though.

The days passed by in a pleasant blur, their daily routine undisturbed. Ed researched. Al read. They ate lunch together, sometimes at home or sometimes Ed would take him out to lunch. Al's heart would sing on these occasions, as they walked side-by-side down the street and sat down in their favorite café, their knees brushing. Then they'd go home again—sometimes to work, or sometimes to lounge on the couch together, Ed curled around Al like a question mark.

Al persisted in the little things—warming Ed's towels, making cookies _just because_, just like his mother, or simply making conversation about something he knew would interest Ed. Ed persisted in being oblivious.

It was a chilly winter morning, dredging up memories of Fort Briggs from the back of his mind. He shivered under the covers and shifted closer to Ed, seeking warmth. Ed grumbled in his sleep, but still threw an arm across his younger brother, bringing him close against his chest. Al smiled, content, and again passed into sleep, ignoring the alarm clock.

It was Ed that finally woke him up, his insistent lips coaxing Al's open and his mind awake. "Al," Ed murmured against Al's lips, "we slept in." He groaned—at sleeping in or at the pleasure of Ed's lips, he wasn't sure—but half-heartedly pushed at Ed's chest and made to roll out from underneath the covers. Ed grabbed at his wrists, mumbling "no, stay, please" almost incoherently. Al suppressed a pleased grin and feigned an exasperated sigh, but curled back into his brother's warmth nonetheless. He felt more than saw Ed's sleepy, satisfied grin against his cheek.

The hours passed, until finally Ed roused him, kissing his cheek and murmuring "time to get up, go shower," until Al crawled out of bed and into the shower.

The hot water felt good on his skin, chasing away the cold and his memories of Fort Briggs. He closed his eyes and luxuriated in the feel of the water, dreading the inevitable cold air outside the bathroom. After taking care of the necessities—brushing his teeth, washing his hair, regretfully washing the smell of Ed off of his skin—he hesitantly shut off the water. His skin grew goose bumps instantly.

He flung an arm out from behind the now-damp shower curtain, blindly searching for his towel, when one was shoved into his hand.

"Here," came the yawning drawl, "take this one." Al grabbed it and wrapped it around himself, pleasantly surprised at the sudden warmth.

It took him several moments before he realized—Ed had warmed his towel in the dryer.

A huge grin formed on his lips, and it was several moments before he was able to actually form words. "Thanks, brother," he finally called through the huge grin.

"'S nothing, Al," came the lazy response.

Al shook his head, still grinning.

It was the little things.


End file.
